I was just catching up with some of my new favorite foodie blogs this morning, and came across a post about notes in lunchboxes.  A very sentimental and sweet posting, with some great comments from readers’ about their experiences with lunchbox notes.

One reader shared that her mother wrote haikus on her bananas.  How awesome is that!?!  Now I’m obsessed with the idea, and I’m going to have to figure out a way to convince my husband Randy to take a lunch to work so that I can surprise him with a love haiku (and I have to get back into the practice of writing haikus, of course).  Considering he almost never packs a lunch, this is going to be quite the challenge.  Perhaps after my garde manger class, I’ll get so good at making sandwiches and salads that he will not be able to resist my mid-day to-go meals.  Wishful thinking, I know.

Anyway, on to the last two parts of the Erica Jong poem “Fruits and Vegetables” in honor of National Poetry Month.

I’m a bit nervous about posting the last 2 sections of this poem on my blog.  Really, I’m nervous about the last section, because it’s . . . shall we say, a bit . . .  sensual.  So, God, please let this blog not show up in any dirty searches.

It’s just good poetry, for Pete’s sake!

17

Astonishment of apples. Every fall.
But only the Italians are into grapes,
calling them eggs.
O my eggs,
branching off my family tree,
my father used to pluck you
leaving bare twigs on the dining room table,
leaving mother furious on the dining room table:
picked clean.
Bare ruined choirs
where late the sweet.
A pile of pits.

18

Adam naming the fruit
after the creation of fruit,
his tongue tickling
the crimson lips of the pomegranate,
the tip of his penis licking
the cheeks of the peach,
quince petals in his hair,
his blue arms full of plums,
his legs wrapped around watermelons,
dandling pumpkins on his fatherly knees,
tomatoes heaped around him in red pyramids . . .

peach
peach
peach
peach
peach

he sighs

to kingdom come.

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